Peace
by OnTheBrightsideItsSunnyToday
Summary: A work in progress. Post-Thor, Pre-Avengers, will eventually become an Avengers/X-Men crossover AU. Come on, guys, you know your curiosity is just KILLING you right now ;) Give it a look, see what you think!
1. Chapter 1

This is kind of just a preview; starting where Thor left off. Let me know what you think!

As you can probably guess, I own nothing.

* * *

Darkness.

That was the only thing Loki could remember seeing in what felt like centuries.

Perhaps it _had_ been centuries… Or even _millennia_… For all he knew, time could have turned backwards, in this…space; this fathomless, empty field of black.

_If only…_ he thought longingly, some lesser part of him pleading to the Norns to let him go back, to make everything _right_ again.

"_**I could've done it, Father!"**_

He had been so close. So maddeningly, frustratingly _close_ to having it all—to proving to Mother that he could handle the burden of being King in Thor and Odin's absence; showing the people (In particular, Sif and the Three) that he could make just as good a ruler—if not a better one—as their favorite golden Odinson; and taking his aforementioned saint of a brother down a few pegs, while he was at it.

Proving to Father that he was just as good a candidate for the crown, and the throne…

"_**I could've done it!"**_

That his being slighter and more adept at sorcery and diplomacy than battle didn't belie his own strengths… That he was _worthy…_

"_**For you!"**_

All he had wanted was to be _seen!_ To be given a chance to just once have something that was entirely his, and for no one to question his right to that. For everyone to stop comparing him to Thor, and wishing it was Thor on the throne and _Thor_ in Odin's place while he slept. Gods, had it occurred to no one that maybe HE wanted to be the hero for once? To be respected and shown affection and praise, instead of being treated with caution and ill-concealed scorn for his alternative lifestyle?

Showered with admiration, instead of mockery and contempt…

"_**For all of us…"**_

It wasn't as though he had done any lasting harm in his part in Thor's banishment; Hel, that hadn't even been a part of the plan. He had only meant to delay his rule long enough for him to grow into the responsibility—damn it, he wasn't _ready! _But any attempt to convince his Fath-…to convince _Odin_—not to mention the rest of the court and council—would've fallen on deaf ears. They'd have merely thought him jealous and power-hungry and sneaky, and turned him away. So, naturally, he had _had_ to disrupt the coronation. It was the only solution; the only surefire way to protect Asgard and the other Realms under her protection from his fool of a brother until Thor was mature enough to take on such an important duty.

The trip to Jotunheim, however, had most certainly not been his idea.

Looking back, he really ought to have foreseen Thor's reaction to the Frost Giants' presence in Asgard—and in the palace, no less. He should have known that the first thing the lunk would do would involve planning a retaliatory charge; going in, Mjolnir swinging, and knocking heads till he was blue in the face, leaving trivial matters like "looking for answers" for later. It was all Thor ever thought of, war. All he ever cared about was fighting and sparring and boasting about that blasted, thrice-cursed _hammer…_

And Sif and the other warriors had (after a bit of coaxing, of course) trailed after his heels like obedient little pups the whole way. Never mind the fact that it was forbidden—not to mention rash, irresponsible, and just plain _stupid_—to venture into the icy Realm, whatever the reason. Never mind that they could have been, and very nearly _were_, killed.

No, they were all happy to tag along in the end, because Thor had them convinced that it would all be _fine_, perfectly safe. They would go in, get what information they were after, and then return home, and the Allfather need never have known.

Honestly, it was a miracle they had all survived; Thor, especially.

His punishment had been fitting, though admittedly the news of it had come as a bit of a shock to all involved in the fool's errand that was their little field trip. Exile had never been previously considered by anyone (even Loki) as a possible form of discipline for the thunderstruck godling. Everyone had believed, _known_ with absolute conviction, that Thor was the favored of the two young princes, particularly by the King. The pair of them, Thor and his father, were so strikingly alike—more so than Odin and Loki had ever been, without any doubt.

_I suppose the great mystery of _why_ has been solved now, though, hasn't it? _The bitterness at the very thought curled around him in the darkness like a shroud, threatening to smother him…

Jotunheim, he knew now, had been the beginning of the end; of him… of _everything…_

"_**No, Loki…"**_

It was a lie.

Everything he knew—all they'd ever told him—was a _lie._

He wasn't Odin's son; he wasn't Thor's brother; he wasn't a prince of Asgard; in fact, he wasn't _of_ Asgard, at all.

He was a beast. The abandoned, unwanted whelp of a monster discarded and left alone, in the cold and the ice, because he had been born too small…too weak. Stolen from his reluctant home to be used like a tool in a greater game of fragile peace between the kings of two worlds ravaged by war, and death. Just a pawn in an old man's game; and in the end, even that purpose fell to the wayside, and he became a neglected second son to a liar and a thief. Nothing more.

_Just a useless Jotun runt… _The truth of it was enough to crush him even further into oblivion...

Not missed by his true kin.

"_**Kill him."**_

Not respected, even by his brother…

"_**Some men do battle, others just do tricks."**_

Taunted by his so-called friends...

"_**What happened? Silver tongue turn to lead"**_

Never trusted…

"_**Do you think you can deceive me?"**_

Never heard…

"_**Know you place, brother."**_

Never noticed…

"_**I could've done it!"**_

Never ENOUGH!

"_**No, Loki…"**_

There had been nothing left for him anymore.

And then…he was falling.

He fell forever.

The Void welcomed his into its embrace, folding around him, blinding him and deafening him to every light; to any sound.

Silence…and darkness.

And nothing.

Nothing at all…

_Now, perhaps…_

Death seemed inevitable, and blissfully silent.

_Yes, _his mental voice sighed, for despite—or rather due to—the circumstances, he felt strangely content.

_At last…_

…He would know _peace_.


	2. Chapter 2

I hope you guys liked the last chapter, and to those of you who have this story on your Alerts, thank you for being so patient for this one. Enjoy!

* * *

In retrospect, he should have realized that where he was concerned, the Fates never _had_ been quite that straightforward; and he had _never_ been that lucky.

Just as Loki had begun to grow accustomed to the idea of dying, and the feeling of being suspended for Eternity in the emptiness between the Realms, the space around him shifted. Suddenly, he was falling again; not like he had before, as though in slow motion, but rather as if he had just jumped from atop the tallest spire of the palace towers. He could feel himself dropping fast, the blood pulsing in his ears.

Wait, he could hear?

He could HEAR! The nearly forgotten rush of wind howled as he continued to fall ever faster, the chill of it stinging his face and forcing him to squint to see. His heart was in his throat as the view around him changed, and the darkness was chased away by a near-blinding spectrum of color and light. At first he imagined it to be the Bifrost, before remembering that that was impossible—_Thor destroyed it, it can't be—_and so was at a loss as to what was happening. All he knew was that as bright as the lights were around him, he could still make out traces of the Dark, beyond.

_No, _Loki thought, as he felt the icy tendrils of panic begin to clutch at his heart, _no, no, nonono!_

When he had let go of Gungnir and was supposedly lost to the Void, he had thought at the time that he would finally be free. That death would be peaceful…easy. But as he abruptly began to regain his sensations of sight and sound—things he had assumed were now lost to him for good—and felt himself dropping like a stone into thin air, he came to the conclusion that he did not, in actual fact, _want_ to die. He wasn't ready, as he had previously thought. And the idea that he could still perish, alone in the dark that was still oh so very near, was enough to frighten him witless.

This eye-opening notion occurred to him, of course, a second too late. As quickly as it had come into being, the magnificent display of light that surrounded him—protected him—disappeared altogether, and he was thrust once more into the Dark.

"Nooo!" he found himself screaming, his eyes searching the blackness in vain as pure, unmitigated terror overtook him.

But he could still hear…and somehow, he could still feel himself falling. There was a sudden bite of tiny water drops hitting his face along with the wind that forced him to close his eyes, and quickly turned into a deluge that soaked his clothes and hair and clogged his mouth and nose. Up became down as he tumbled end-over-end through the unexpected storm, struggling to breathe as he wondered what in the Nine was happening. No longer able to take not knowing, Loki opened his eyes as much as he dared, to find that the blackness around him was not quite so impermeable as before. He could vaguely see little pinpricks of light far, far below him…and drawing ever closer by the second. The lights began to grow bigger and brighter, and with their aid he saw the fuzzy outline of a building surrounded by a sprawl of open ground, with what appeared to be woodlands forming an outlying border. Dread filled him at the sight. _Oh no…_

In the time it took him to blink, several things happened at once.

Leaves and tree branches engulfed his field of vision; he had seconds to raise his arms to cover his face. The rest of him, on the other hand…well, it was all he could do to try and curl into a ball, to shield himself. And then, the pain started. Wooden limbs cracked and splintered to pieces under his weight, pounding him relentlessly while in no way stopping his fall. Sharp branches tore up his clothes and snatched at his hair, yanking his face away from the protection of his hands and ravaging his visage with scrapes and cuts. A gash opened up above his brow; another, on his chin. A ripping sound and vicious jerk of his neck told him his cape had been torn away. The constant clanging of metal on wood echoed around him at his armor took beating after cruel beating in his seemingly never-ending descent.

_Please_…

A sharp jolt of agony caused him to cry out anew; his left arm was broken. He begged the Norns to end his suffering, but to no avail. Blackness began creeping in along the edges of his vision, and he fought weakly against it. Another branch caught him in the side, and even over the wind, rain, rumbling thunder, and his own screams he heard his ribs make a sickening crack, and a choked gasp left him as he felt his grip on consciousness begin to slip. The pain was too much, the ground was rushing up to meet him and before he could brace himself for the imminent collision, his eyes fell shut with a defeated sigh as the dark he so feared folded around him once more.

Loki finally hit the earth with a crash loud enough to wake the dead, a small crater forming around him from the force of it. The sound reverberated through the trees, shocking frightened birds into flight and sending creatures on the ground scurrying away. The storm carried on, rain pouring down on the broken form lying prone on the forest floor and causing his blood to wash away and mingle with the dirt. And apart from the low rumble of thunder in the distance, not a sound could be heard. Even the animals were silent; once again, as before, the night air was calm and still.

Yet, somehow, three-hundred yards away, the disturbance was enough to cause a man named Charles Xavier to wake with a start.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'll bet you guys are excited for this one, huh? Are you excited? I'm excited!**

**As per usual, I own nothing; Enjoy :)**

* * *

It was two o' clock in the morning, in the middle of a howling thunderstorm, when the Professor found himself—quite inexplicably—awake.

He sat up slowly in bed, tossing the blankets aside. Knowing without a doubt, now that he was awake, that there was no chance of him going back to sleep, he moved to the edge of the mattress, flicked on the lamp, and got to his feet. He was still in his pajamas, but given the obscenely late hour, he hardly felt bothered by it. Crossing to the other side of the room, he gently eased the door open; ever-mindful of the squeaking hinges, so as not to disturb his students' slumber. Charles made his way out into the shadowed corridor, listening to the rain pelting the windows. A flash of lighting streaked brilliantly across the sky, followed almost immediately by a deep, resonant roll of thunder that shook the Mansion to its sublevels.

By the look of things, it seemed as though at least one other person wasn't sleeping very well, either. _Oh, Ororo… _He sighed wearily.

It had been six months. Six months, and yet the scene he was forced to relive night after night was always the same...

_He and Erik crossed paths with one another in the quiet suburb where Jean had once lived as a young girl; the two of them—side by side—entered the house just as they had so many years prior, though at the time of this particular meeting, each man was on an entirely different mission than the other. They discovered that regardless of the time gone by, the house had been left relatively unchanged; with the exception of the fact that various objects and pieces of furniture could be seen floating in midair. Entering the living room they came upon Jean, sitting alone, levitating and then releasing the contents of the room with her mind; her hands curved into claws on the arms of her chair._

_A vicious, burning fury in her eyes as she raised her head to glare daggers at him. Guarded; aggressive._

_Unyielding._

_Not a trace was left of the woman he had come to regard so dearly as a part of his—albeit unconventional—family. She had been one of his most remarkable students; one of his first, in fact. Never had she lacked in courage, intelligence, or strength. But in the end, none of that had been enough to save her. The Phoenix—an entity that he had fought for so long to keep at bay—inevitably, mercilessly, overwhelmed her._

_Her enduring and fearless protector at Alkali Lake ultimately became the bringer of her destruction… and Charles'._

_He would never, so long as he lived, forget that moment; when, by that sinister Force's might, time itself had stood still. Jean's once-beautiful face twisted and warped in an expression of pure, fathomless_ _**hatred**__; never seen—before or since—by him, nor anyone else. Her eyes as black as Hell and twice as forbidding; dark violet and crimson veins strikingly visible against her pale skin; a wild, twisting mane of scarlet hair fanning out behind her in the harsh wind that sprang forth seemingly from nowhere. Her arms outstretched at her sides as she held him telekinetically suspended, his legs dangling uselessly, two feet off the ground._

_Erik screamed for her to stop this from somewhere behind him._

_Charles made one, final effort to bring her back to reality._

_"Don't let it control you..."_

_Turning his head slightly, he saw Logan, looking on in horror from the doorway, trapped on the ceiling in the next room and utterly helpless to do anything but watch; the Professor met the Wolverine's wide, fearful eyes…for the last time._

_He smiled._

_"Noooooo!"_  
_  
"CHARLES!"_

And then he woke up.

For the better part of a year, the nightmare hadn't changed. But for the first time since coming back (unexpectedly and rather miraculously) from the "Other Side", as it were—in the form of a patient of Moira's who had been in perfect health (and blessedly devoid of spinal injuries), though wholly brain-dead for decades—he had somehow managed to get a decent night's sleep; which he had been thoroughly enjoying, before it had been interrupted. Bringing him back to the question of whom or what had woken him and, more to the point, _how?_

He knew that despite the noise, it hadn't been the tempest raging outside. He didn't have an answer as to how he knew, just that he did. Perhaps it had been one of the children, or even a member of his team. Charles was well aware that he wasn't the only one in this house that was haunted by painful memories late at night; he'd been roused by others unintentionally projecting their bad dreams into his mind, both when he was asleep and when not, on more than one occasion. Such was the occupational hazard of being a telepath with a houseful...

As was a habit for him on nights like this, the Professor took a deep breath and stretched out his mental field; scanning the minds of the institute's other residents to find out exactly where the trouble was. Besides himself, he sensed only three others that were, predictably, awake—Ororo, Logan, and Rogue—while everyone else was sound asleep, their minds calm and undisturbed. He concentrated harder.

Ororo and Logan were in the kitchen, sitting opposite one another at the table, both of them hunched forward over steaming mugs of tea (she had thought it might help—it hadn't). Neither spoke, lost as they were in their own thoughts; She, gazing out the window, her namesake stirring up a wind forceful enough to rattle the diamond-paned glass; He, staring at a spot on the table unseeingly, the overabundance of pain and death he had witnessed in recent memory leaving him numb.  
The scene made Xavier's heart ache, and he gently pulled back the sphere of his mind, respectfully leaving the two of them to grieve in private. Moving away from the kitchen to the library, he found Rogue. She was curled up in one of the plush armchairs in front of the fireplace, a small flame still burning warmly in the grate, with a blanket spread over her legs and a book in her gloved hand. The sight was at once familiar and disheartening.

Ever since her mutation had fought off the so-called "Cure", and she had gotten her powers back, Rogue had become even more withdrawn than when she had first arrived at the school with Logan three years ago. She had been devastated when she'd realized that her one chance at a normal life had failed her; it had taken weeks for her to speak so much as a word to anyone. She was still largely unsociable but thankfully, in the last month or so, Charles had seen her start to come around again; slowly, but surely. And the two of them were working harder than ever, now, on her learning to gain control of her ability. After all he had seen and done in his life, he refused to believe it was unachievable. He wouldn't give up hope.  
With a sigh, he retreated, too, from the young woman sitting by the fire; secure in the notion that like the others, she had been awake for at least the last few hours, and so hadn't been the one to disrupt his sleep. _Strange, _he thought, leaning his palms against the windowsill and looking out into the night…

He was about to return to his room, resigned to tossing and turning his way back to sleep, when an odd sight on the far edge of the grounds caught his eye; a flock of birds flying, quite suddenly, away from their perches in the treetops of the forest. The Professor blinked; what on Earth was the matter with them? The storm was gradually beginning to die down, the thunder and lightning having long since passed. Only the rain lingered on. Something must have frightened them; and Charles being Charles, it was impossible not to be curious _what_. Once more, he expanded the reach of his mind, searching the woods for signs of disorder.

A second later he was racing to the kitchen as fast as his newly-acquired legs could carry him.

* * *

The sound of running feet coming toward them made his shoulders tense up, shaking him out of his bitter recollections and instantly putting him on alert. Out of the corner of her eye, 'Ro must have seen him move, because she turned to look at him questioningly.

"…What?" He held a finger up to his lips and pointed to the door by way of reply. Her brows knit together in confusion.

"What is it, Logan," she asked. He shot her a look from across the table, telling her without words to stop talking and pay attention. She rolled her eyes, but decided to humor him (his instincts hadn't been wrong, yet) and waited, listening intently for any signs of something amiss. She didn't have to wait long; a beat later, Charles burst into the room, panting, white-faced and utterly shaken.

Logan sighed exasperatedly, shaking his head at the sight.

"Jesus, Chuck, don't _do_ that," he said, irritated; he had thought they were under attack. Again. "What, did you feel like getting shish-kabobbed? It's…," he looked over at the clock on wall, "…two-thirty in the morning—where's the fire?"

"Logan," Ororo admonished shortly, before moving to stand beside her mentor. "Charles, what's wrong?" The Professor shook his head.

"No time," he told them, crossing purposefully to the catch-all drawer next to the sink and rummaging through it until he drew out a flashlight. Without a word, he motioned for them to follow him and took off out the door to the grounds. In the middle of the night. While it was still raining.

Logan and Ororo stared after him as he ran out into the storm, turned to look at each other with mirror expressions of disbelief, and then finally ran to catch up with him. They called out, trailing not far behind as he headed for the woods at the edge of the property, but he paid them no mind.

"Where are you GOING?!"

"Charles!"

They had no choice but to follow, picking their way over twigs and fallen branches and trying not to end up face-first in the mud; or bang into trees. A task easier said than done.

"Damn it," Logan muttered, following the shaking beam of Charles' flashlight—which was proving difficult the thicker the trees became—while still attempting to figure out what in the Hell had possessed the man to leave the Mansion _right now _and go running through the forest in the dark. But before he could shout his question at the telepath's retreating back, a foreign voice filled his head.

_There's someone out here, Logan._

The Wolverine winced at the sudden invasion of his thoughts; he really hated when Chuck did that. He shook his head to clear it, and then pressed back.

_**You're sure?**_

Looking ahead, he saw that the beam from the flashlight had stopped moving; he slowed down until he, and Ororo, finally reached Charles' side.

"Positive," the man replied grimly.

They were standing on the rim of a small crater. Leaves and branches of varying sizes were scattered chaotically all around them; it looked as though a bomb had gone off. Now that he was able to really listen, Logan realized he couldn't hear anything out here—even the rain had faded out. He turned just in time to see the last vestiges of swirling white mist leave Storm's eyes, looking from her to his soaked clothes and back again, a sarcastic remark about how it would've been great if she had thought to do that _before_ on the tip of his tongue; but then he saw the look on Charles' face, and followed his gaze down to the center of the clearing. The sight knocked the wind out of him.

"…Holy Shit."

* * *

**AN: Okay, a couple things real quick, for those who are curious (or confused, as the case may be); this is set after X3, and references the end credits scene from the film where** **Charles comes back from the dead. Unfortunately, I couldn't save Jean, but she already died and came back once, ya know? She's a mutant, not a cat; chick's only got so many lives. Anyway, I've tried, and will continue to try, to keep Logan, Storm, and Charles as IN character as possible, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on how I did!**

Next chapter, coming soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**So upon uploading this chapter, I noticed that I had missed quite a few GLARINGLY obvious proofreading errors, among other issues. This is the revised chapter; it's longer, and some parts have been tweaked, so to any that got to read the other (horrible) version, let me know how this one compares by leaving a review! Chapter five will mostly likely be up by the end of the week, however, I make _no_ promises regarding chapter six. Anyone who has added the story to their Alerts will tell you that I don't have the greatest track record with that, hehe... Sorry it took me so long, guys.**

**Anyhow, thank you and enjoy!**

* * *

From where they stood, the three mutants stared down in muted horror at what could now be seen clearly as the body of a young man, lying in the center of the crater. Now that the rain had stopped, fresh blood began to bloom from the multiple wounds that covered him nearly head-to-toe; the strong metallic smell had Logan fighting down the urge to gag. This guy looked like he'd gone through the business end of a meat grinder—twice—although the more likely explanation for his state was that he'd fallen from the top of one of the trees. And hit _every_ branch on the way down.

"What the Hell…?" he asked incredulously, managing to swallow past the nausea to find his voice, "Where'd he come from?" Charles turned to him and shrugged, his face a mask of shock. The telepath took a cautious step forward, kneeling slowly beside the mangled form sprawled out in the mud to get a better look at him. He was wearing some kind of medieval-esque armor, the leather torn in places and the bronze scuffed and peppered with dents. His face was stark white behind the blood and dirt, his thin lips bloodless and bruised. Sharp, angular cheekbones jutted out beneath his skin, making him look almost gaunt in appearance. There was a nasty gash over his brow, the blood running into his matted and tangled black hair. It was a truly awful sight; Xavier sighed, frowning as he reached out a tentative hand to try and at least find a pulse.

He drew back with a start, however, when his ears caught the softest of groans-his eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh my god," Ororo gasped softly from somewhere behind him, drawing closer as well, "Charles, is he _alive_?"

With a shaking hand, he reached out again to find that, sure enough, he could _just _feel the faint rhythm of the man's heart beating erratically against his fingertips.

"Yes, but he's fading; we need to get him inside, quickly" Charles turned to Logan and beckoned him forward. "Here, help me…"

* * *

Through the haze of agony brought on by his rather…_rough_ descent to ground, Loki slowly began to stir, roused by a distorted murmur of voices from somewhere nearby. At least, he guessed they were nearby—the raw ache that was spreading gradually throughout his twisted limbs was making details a _bit_ difficult to process. Even breathing proved almost too much to handle; his ribs burned at the slightest intake of air, forcing his breaths to be shallow and wheezy. The godling moaned pitifully, paralyzed and blind all over again; typical. Unconsciousness threatened to steal him away again, but not before he heard the strange voices grow louder; closer, he realized.

And perhaps he was imagining it, but…were they concerned?

_"…my God…_alive_?"_

Gentle fingers pressed against his throat, causing him to whimper; even that small touch was enough to cause him pain. Thankfully it didn't last long, and he heaved an internal sigh of relief. Then the voices sprang up again.

_"Yes…need…him inside…help…"_

Loki wished that he could speak. Wished he could let them know that he heard them, that he understood; but it felt as though his lips were fused together. Even mustering the ability to blink appeared to be beyond him at the moment. His eyelids stubbornly refused to lift, heavy as they were at the moment. If he was honest with himself, a part of him was afraid of the very real possibility that the people whom the voices belonged to would leave him where he lay, thinking him either dead, or else too badly injured to save. If that happened, he knew he was doomed. A nearly imperceptible crease of frustration marred his bleeding forehead, as the bone-deep exhaustion from the fall robbed him of any strength he still possessed to pry his eyes open-just to blink them!-but it was useless. His strength was completely tapped, and what little magic he still had was only a weak spark beneath his skin; it would never be enough to heal him before he bled out. Not to mention, the slow fade from life would be excruciating…

_Perhaps I will die, after all… _another, more resigned corner of his consciousness mused. It was miserable to consider, now, and yet, he held out very little hope that the strangers in the dark would come to his aid…it seemed highly unlikely.

People just…didn't help him. They didn't care…

* * *

Logan came over to the other side and prepared to lift the man into his arms, but not before the professor caught a rather distressing thought from his mind.

_I will die, then…_

Not bothering to keep his reply to himself, the telepath spoke aloud as he firmly projected, _**"No, my friend…"**_

Thinking Xavier was talking to him, Logan halted his movements, cocking a brow questioningly. "Charles..?

Charles shook his head. "I'm sorry, I was speaking to our mystery guest, here." He frowned. "He can hear us—barely—and is under the impression that we might have left him here to die because he can't move, speak, or otherwise communicate that he's still alive."

Brushing his fingertips to the fellow's temple as gently as possible, he found that his thoughts had suddenly begun to perk up as he realized he had been heard.

The facet of his mind that had begun to embrace death started at the proximity and clarity of Charles' voice. Meanwhile, the more frantic side latched onto the sound like a drowning man on a lifeline. This person wasn't sure where the telepath had come from, nor how he had heard him, and he didn't care; all that mattered was that he _had_. _Please, _the stranger thought desperately; struggling just to stay awake, now… _PLEASE, don't leave me here!  
_

Charles' frown deepened as he picked up on the desperate tinge to his cries—his pain was intense, but his fear…his _fear _was _**suffocating**_. Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the panic, physically gritting his teeth against the onslaught of terror at being left to a lingering and miserable death, abandoned again, no one to hear him, no one to help, frightened and alone and please, please, _pleasepleasepleasePLEASE!—_

_**Calm your mind,**_ he insisted, taking care to keep his voice even and concentrating hard on lessening the pain; reassuring him that he was not alone, that he would be helped, that they _would not leave him. _While Charles' mind was occupied with pacifying the injured young man, his gaze flicked to Logan and he nodded once, giving the go ahead to lift him.

The resulting scream echoed through the trees, effectively shattering the silence and causing all three mutants to cry out in surprise; none of them had thought this poor soul capable of making such a sound, given the state he was in. But for Logan, it was all the confirmation he needed to know that they had to get back to the mansion and get this guy to the infirmary, A.S.A.P. He knew he was probably jostling him more than he ought to be, but was at a loss at how to make things any better. Thankfully, Charles came up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.  
"Logan, _wait_," he said, thinking for a moment, "He's in agony—let me put him to sleep before we move him any further." He wanted to argue that there was no _time _for that, but then the broken form in his arms began to shake; whether from shock or the breathless sobs tearing through his chest, it was impossible to tell. Logan turned, nodding to the Professor. "Go ahead..."

* * *

The warm voice was back, and with it the pain gently started to fade to the back of his mind, leaving an overwhelming weariness in its wake . He didn't hurt, now, but his senses were foggier than before… It felt as though he was floating in a thick mist… By Odin, he was so_ tired…_

_**Sleep, now…**_

* * *

The professor was met with slight resistance, but could see the sedation beginning to take hold; this man's mind was strong, but his resolve had been greatly weakened by the pain.

_**You are safe…  
**_

* * *

_Safe...?_ Loki mused detachedly. How could he be safe? He was in so much pain; he didn't know where he was or who this other voice in his mind belonged to, or how the owner of said voice could even hear him. Could a stranger really promise such a blessed release as safety? And to what end? Surely there was no one in the Nine Realms that would risk offering sanctuary to a Jotun, even one runty and wounded as he was. Surely he still wasn't worthy of such treatment...how could he be?

* * *

Uncertainty; the stranger was tired, but still able to question whether he could trust them...why they would bother with him. Xavier had to give him credit—not many could fight the pull of his influence for this long. Trying another tactic, he probed through the man's most recent memories to find a name to put to the pale, blood-streaked face, hoping that maybe it would be familiar enough to give him that last push he needed to drift off.

He was pulled in in a flash of color and light and that ever-present _pain_…

"…_I hope it's true; so that you may know that your death came at the hand of _Laufey…"

_A being both foreign and yet, strikingly familiar to Charles__—_a giant with blue skin and dark red eyes_—_knelt on a stately bed covered in furs, holding a dagger of ice above the prone form lying beneath him, poised to strike; only to be caught in the back by a burst of white light.

"_And your death came by the son of Odin…"whispered a voice to his left. His astral-self turned, there but not there, observing the speaker closely. A young man—_the _young man, from the crater—stood proudly before him, and he had to blink, convinced that his eyes were playing tricks on him._

_The difference in appearance was like night and day. Gone was blood and dirt; the wounds not yet inflicted; but still, there was no mistaking that armor, free of damage and glowing in the soft light. He was tall, towering nearly a foot over Charles, and the aura of power he exuded was palpable-broad shoulders thrown back, the envy-green cape that hung there just brushing the stone floor; feet set apart in a stance that begged a challenge; horned helm curving wickedly atop his head, adding to his already impressive height._

_Not that Charles lingered on any of these traits for very long; he was far too preoccupied with the heavy—looking spear in the stranger's hands._

_A cold fury blazed in his vivid green eyes as he looked down on the giant lying confused and winded at his feet. The professor could feel so many emotions pass through the air between them—anger, rage, betrayal, abandonment, hurt, disgust, conviction—and before he could blink again the young man raised his weapon, intent all too clear._

_Another burst of light, a shower of sparks, and the next second the giant was gone, leaving only a dusting of ash in his wake.  
_

_"Loki," said another voice; an elder blonde woman in flowing, pale gold robes struggled to her feet, rushing into the arms of the young man with the spear and holding him tight, "you saved him…"_

Wrenching himself away with a gasp Charles opened his eyes, shaking off the vague sense of horror at the scene he had just witnessed and clinging instead to the bit of information he'd been looking for in the first place—Loki. His name was Loki.

Ignoring the look of wary confusion that Logan was giving him, he closed his eyes again and redoubled his efforts to soothe their guest into blissful oblivion; they could worry about who had been killed and why, later. After all, even if this man _was_ dangerous, he could hardly _breathe—_much less put anyone in harms way. There was no way he posed a threat to them; not right now, anyway.

_Safe…? _

The thought pulled the telepath back to the present; he had to focus. It wouldn't take long, now.

_**Yes, Loki…**_

* * *

The fallen prince distantly wondered how this man—for it was a man's voice he heard—knew his name, and why he was helping him...but he supposed that could wait…

**_Sleep..._**

Hecould feel himself going under. The pain was gone. The darkness was creeping in; but unlike before, in the Void, the prospect did not frighten him this time. This was warmth...comfort...a heavy blanket, folding around him as he drifted away... _Yes..._

_**That's it…a**__**ll will be well…**_

The softest of sighs escaped him as once more, he faded out...

* * *

Charles opened his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as his hand fell away from Loki's temple. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked to find Ororo at his side, her own dark orbs full of worry as she turned from him to the limp form still cradled against Logan's chest. "Is he…?" her question trailed off, the tone of her voice making it clear what she was asking; Charles nodded.

"He's alive, but as I said, only just." His gaze flicked down to glance over the dirty and mangled features of the sleeping Loki, wincing internally at the dark bruises that had already begun to form there, to say nothing of the blood still weeping from his countless other wounds. He turned his attention back to Ororo. "Run ahead and prepare the infirmary as best you can—we'll meet you there." She nodded and took off through the trees, Logan and Charles falling behind her at a more careful pace, mindful of their charge.

The professor sighed, casting his thoughts out again as they walked.

_**Hold on, my friend…you're going to be**_** alright…**All the while, Loki remained still.**  
**


End file.
